wet

Django came in out of the garden this morning very very wet and looking extremely sorry for himself - and couldn't understand why I was not exactly delighted when he insisted he needed a cuddle. I did point out that there had been grey clouds overhead but he had still insisted on going out but he still insisted it was my fault, the way cats do.

Luckily the other cats were kinder to him. Here's Pepper checking he's OK (though the concern did not extend to letting him share his footstool in front of the fire):

and Bixy helped him to lick himself dry.

Then tried to hypnotise me into thinking that he'd worked so hard he deserved a second breakfast. I ask you, does he look like a starving cat?

As you'll have gathered, I haven't much to blog about at the moment. Most of my time is taken up with either decluttering the house or with a project for Festival of Quilts which I want to keep under wraps for the moment. And the weather is too awful - rain and hailstorms - to go for any interesting walks.

Bixy says I should mention that the above photograph is cruelly unflattering and he is losing weight (admittedly at a rate that means he will reach his target weight in about two years' time) and that I am actually starving him to death...

to the woods, to the woods!

Same area as last week's walk: I bought a season-ticket which allows me into any of the car-parks on the estate, which is owned by the Duke of Devonshire - a lot of good walks around here and I hope to be to the more strenuous ones by the time it expires. Walked up the other side of the river this time, more up and down but with a high-level walk along much of its length. Paused here to draw breath, and to let a lively but pleasant school party overtake me. Having a camera gives you a good excuse for a pause when you need one.

LOTS of photos this time - some (not all shown here) taken for a project based on woodland. I started near lunchtime and paused to eat at the top of the climb in a shelter which looked out onto this view:

I also had some interesting company for lunch - part human, a very pleasant group of local people - and part avian:

Some walkers bring bird-food specially apparently. Makes a change from the rapacious sheep in seach of sandwiches elsewhere in the Dales!

Love these tree-roots on the exposed slope.

The high-level bit on this side of the river was punctuated with amazing views,

including the one above, a different angle on The Strid. (By the way I am amazed to learn that Brenda, one of my readers, has actually kayaked down the Strid)

And there were of course plenty of amazing trees: could you have predicted the shapes of some of these branches?

Or the shapes in these trees?

And finally, some time later, back to the other side of the river with its beautiful range of colours - very inspirational!

haiku festival

Not a great haiku but it was hovering around at the top of my head...

the flowing waters

of woodland rills and rivers

refresh my spirit

and I had a nice piccy to go with it!

may with its light behaving

Yesterday I made a return visit to Bolton Abbey in the Yorkshire Dales - a place we used to visit often when my husband was alive, but which I have not been to since his death nine years ago. The best bit was walking along the river to the Strid and beyond. The Strid is a narrow chasm in the river through which water rushes. It looks fairly mild here but it has been dry in the last week - it is more spectacular when in spate.

Though it looks harmless - in fact it looks as if you could jump across it - beware of trying: the pool below is thirty feet deep and it has claimed many lives over the centuries. Here's sa shot looking downwards:

I love the colours of the river, the mosses and the rocks, and despite the weekend crowds, I found a number of other equally appreciative people along the walk:

Not to mention the bluebells in Strid Woods - a real bonus.

A really magical walk - maybe the inspiration for May's journal quilt.

And in case you're wondering about the titles of this post - it's the first line of a poem by W.H.Auden one of my favourite poets, who was born in York and also loved the Dales:

May with its light behaving

Stirs vessel, eye, and limb